O Marklus the Great, the voices of the Zikes hummed through his head. We hear. We obey.
Marklus felt his eyes grow wet as he swallowed hard, his mind already clouding, shutting down from the horror as he watched.
“Marklus!” a voice called out of the mist and a shadow walked towards him.
Marklus turned, expecting to see Crinte, but instead found himself looking into the cocky, smug face of a lanky Cron. He furrowed his brow and pointed at him. “Simon the Brave? What are you doing here?”
Simon shrugged nonchalantly. “You said to call the army, and we are here.”
Marklus grasped Simon’s shoulder. “Good. Call your division of the army, tell them to destroy the tower. The Zikes will help.”
Simon peered over Marklus’ shoulder at the tower and looked back into Marklus’ face.
“What do you see?” he asked curiously.
Marklus shuddered. “You may think it impossible, but the tower is made out of spirits, trapped between life and death. Destroying that tower will set them free.”
Simon shivered and peered back over Marklus’ shoulder, his eyes now wide. “But won’t they destroy all of us?”
“That is entirely possible,” Marklus conceded. “But whatever is going on in the tower is keeping the transformed alive. Go, I must find Crinte.”
Marklus ran, leaving Simon the Brave standing stock still, staring at the tower. He did not see as the doors flung open and dozens of Xeros began to march towards the valley.
SARHORR THE RULER
It was dawn. Crinte could tell although the light never changed. They had been fighting for almost a day, although the armies continued endlessly. Crinte could sense it was time; something had changed in the air, and soon the tide would turn one way or another. Crinte pulled back towards the hill, letting the armies of Mizine stream around him. It had been hours since he had last seen his warriors, and for a brief moment he wondered if Legone the Swift had taken to the ledges without him. A division of the army was at the black tower, being terribly beaten by the Xeros although the Zikes were there. Zikes fought flesh, and the iron monsters were nothing of the sort. Tincire had brought some sort of explosives his division of the army were lighting and throwing into the midst of the Gaslinks. Most of the Garcrats were gone, the initiation round of the transformed, doomed to death.
Crinte lifted his sword. Despite the death it had seen it shone clearly, the oracles on it all pointing upwards. He swung it in a slow arc and they appeared before him, blinking off the end of his sword and hurling themselves into space. Visions danced before his eyes and he saw them clearly this time. He turned to the dark tower and pointed his sword at it, watching the spirits ebb and flow in their struggle. He saw beyond what Marklus had seen and he knew what he must do. Lifting his sword in the air he called them. “Marklus. Legone. Starman. Alaireia.”
An Xctas flew overhead and Legone dropped out of the sky, landing on his feet in front of Crinte. He swung his bow into his back and pulled a dagger out of his belt. “It is time,” he said, knowingly.
Marklus stumbled down the hill, out of breath, his curly hair wild. “If we don’t take him down now,” he said, “all of this will have been in vain. The Slutan Armies increase while the Mizine Armies fall.”
Crinte placed a hand on his shoulder. “Drive a way to the ledges. We must ascend.”
They ran forward just as a blast of golden light erupted in front of them, driving back a troop of Gaslinks racing towards them. They were lifted off their feet and hurled backwards, the force of their bodies creating shallow dents in the ground.
Alaireia walked out of the light with Starman beside her. Their eyes were narrow and red rimmed, their faces dirty and smudged. “You called,” Alaireia said as she twirled a dagger, turning and throwing it at a Gaslink on her left.
“It’s time to face him. Run!” Crinte shouted.
They dashed through the valley of armies, avoiding the river of death that lay between them and Sarhorr the Ruler himself. Bodies were piled like walls in the middle, black and blue arrows and flags, broken bows, bent swords, and cold eyes. Golden brown feathers dotted the landscape where the Xctas had fallen, bright red blood mixing with black blood, and the smell of flesh, bone, and marrow began to creep through the Great Water Hole. The slaughter continued as the Mizine Army raged forward, bronze shields raised to the sky, avoiding the arrows that drifted lazily towards them. Spears were thrust in and out of bodies, while sparks from flame burst into the air. Cries of the wounded, the drying, the transformed, echoed eerily through the canyon and the battleground as the power struggle continued. The Xeros guarded the tower, striking down those who dared to fight against it, to bash in their walls. Yet the Five Warriors ran on, tearing through the Slutan Army, avoiding the Xeros that marched with them, ripping apart the Gaslinks who continued to chant. Grwahoo! Grwahoo! Grwahoo! The thrumming of drums continued in the deep like one great heartbeat, continuing to pulse and breathe. It was just when they reached the foot of the mountains, right when they were beginning to climb, a group of bleary-eyed Sorns marched up to them, pickaxes on their backs.
Crinte paused, holding his sword in front of him and signaling for Legone and Marklus to hold their bows. “State your allegiance,” he demanded of them.
A Sorn glanced up but his eyes appeared unseeing as he looked forward. His unwashed skin hung off his bones, his body nothing more than a waste. “We are going to die,” he said, his voice barely heard above the cries from the battlefield.
“Then die with us,” Crinte told them, stepping forward. “Die with us instead of in the canyon of transformed waters. Die with us fighting for freedom for this World. Die with us ending the domain of an uncaring power.” The Sorns stood up straighter, raising their pickaxes as they heard the power and authority in Crinte’s voice. “This is the war for the Western World,” Crinte’s voice rang out with iron certainly. “This is not the war to save Mizine, or Asspraineya, or Slutan. This is the war to save our World, our homeland, the very ground on which we stand and all the people groups. Crons, Tiders, Trazames, Ezincks, Sorns, and the immortal creatures of the air, the sea and the land. We are going to the last battle and it is your choice. Come with us. Die with us fighting for freedom!”
“Freedom?” A Sorn spoke the word as if he had never heard it before and turned to his comrades. “Freedom!” he repeated again, feeling the power as the word buzzed underneath his tongue. The Sorns raised their pickaxes in the air. “Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!” they chanted. “Aye, we will fight with you!”
“Clear a path to the ledges!” Crinte ordered, but the eager Sorns had already turned, running towards the heights, chanting as they went. Their thin bodies nimbly leaped through the air. Ledges above ledges, they ascended as the sky grew nearer and brighter. At times they thought they could reach up and touch the silver stars, hanging low near the world. The intense heat from the canyon faded as they walked through the mists into a rough wind. The rock below them turned shades of white and gray with iridescent colors sparkling beneath the surface. Legone walked ahead, sure of his way, at ease among the heights. Before them the Sorns drifted and disappeared, leaving the beaten track, fighting the guards of the mountains. But the Five were sure in their path and followed it, clambering over rock and stone, leaping from ledge to ledge until finally their path ended against smooth rock with a sharp drop off on the other side. “I see him.” Crinte’s voice was breathless. “He is waiting for us. We stand on his doorstep.” He turned, placing his hands on the smooth rock, rubbing them against it, searching.
“We are going in?” Starman’s voice trembled slightly as he clutched his sword.
“Yes,” Crinte replied as he pushed against the rock. A slight, inward move made the mountain tremble. “Ready?” Crinte asked his warriors.
Legone pulled an arrow taut in his bow and lifted it towards the crack in the rock. Starman drew his sword and squared his shoulders, feeling strength flood through his body, overwhelming th
e fear. Marklus raised his bow but Alaireia lifted her Clyear. “Try to keep your footing,” she told them.
Crinte slammed his weight against the rock and it slide open to reveal a shallow room with a staircase leading upwards to the top of the rock, back into the day-lit land. Two horned Xeros moved forward at their entrance, lifting their curved blades and advancing towards the warriors. Above them an echoing cry began, shouting a warning over and over again. It sounded like a beast frantically flying back and forth. The Five Warriors hurled themselves forward, flying into action. Legone moved rapidly towards the staircase, ducking the Xero’s blades and sending two arrows flying. They harmlessly bounded off their metal but Legone was on the staircase, headed upwards before they could stop him. Crinte and Starman stepped up, swords blocking the blows from the Xeros and Alaireia lifted the Clyear and blew over it. The ground began to shake and she dived to the ground as a sword swiped near her neck. She, too, turned to the staircase and stumbled upwards as the first few steps crumbled. Marklus held his bow, calculating as the heavy monsters attempted to regain their balance on the shaking ground. His lifted his bow and let loose his first arrow. In surprise he watched as the arrow sank into the Xero’s armor. It collapsed with a crash, unsteadying the other monster who lunged for Marklus. Marklus leaped out of the doorway, sending the creature flying downward into the open space beyond the mountain. The stairs continued to crumble, kicking up clouds of black dust. Crinte coughed as he turned towards the staircase. “Let’s go!” he shouted urgently. Keeping to the plan, Marklus and Starman followed at his heels.
Legone dashed up the stairs as they curved upwards, spiraling in circles until he walked out into the beautiful sky. A river of purple with stars floated above him, close enough he wanted to reach up and place his hands in the ripple. The air was calm, and looking down he could see the Great Water Hole spread before him, but the sounds of death and battle had faded. Legone realized he was standing on a grassy knoll at the top of the Great Water Hole, a knoll which strangely reminded him of Shilmi.
“Legone, you have come at last,” a gentle voice remarked.
Legone looked and saw him standing serenely at the edge of the mountain, looking over his transformed world. He wore a deep blue coat that looked as if it were made out of the midnight sky.
“You have come with your powerful friends, as I told you.” He turned his head to look behind Legone and smiled as if joking. “Where are they?”
“Yes.” Legone nodded and attempted to step forward, but his feet would not move. “I have come because none will stand up to you. I have come on behalf of the Western World. Do not do this!”
Sarhorr chuckled softly, spreading his hands. “Oh, but I have. Did you not see everything I have done to challenge you and your powerful friends as you journeyed here? You took far too long to find the Clyear of Power and the most powerful warriors in the land, you forced my hand. I had to do something to pull you out of your hiding place. The destruction of the Western World is your fault after all. If you had kept to our deal, this would not have happened. But now, it is over. You stand before me, as you should.”
“No!” Legone’s voice was forceful and strong. “We made a deal. You will recall your armies and leave this World!”
“Or else?” Sarhorr prompted, a sinister grin covering his perfect face.
“I have come to propose another trade.”
Sarhorr turned around. His body, swallowed in midnight, was pure and elegant. His eyes were round and dark with knowledge. His chiseled face was a masterpiece of perfection as he walked towards Legone, his sleek hair resting gently on his shoulders. “A trade? What could you possibly have that I would want? You, a mere mortal, would come to my kingdom and offer a trade? Now, I am curious.”
Legone stepped forward. “I know you think little of mortals, we are nothing more than a blink in the eye in your lifetime. I know you are a Changer, searching for a home to call all the immortals to dwell with you. But I was told your secret, I know what can bring you down. If you had the Clyear of Power, well, it would be different for you. You truly know how to unlock its powers, to use it as it should be used.”
Sarhorr’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, and I demanded you bring it to me. But even if you have it, it is too late. I gave you immortality and I can take it away. Our deal is off, I no longer need you or your powerful warriors. I no longer need the Clyear of Power, but if you have brought it I will drain every drop of power from it.” He moved closer to Legone. “But I have another use for you. We will see when I kill you and drop your body into the waters. You will enjoy your second life as a Gaslink I think.” He smiled coldly and reached out a hand for Legone’s neck.
Legone attempted to move but his will slipped away. He felt fingers lifting him, crushing his windpipe while his feet wiggled futilely above the ground. His arms hung paralyzed by his side as he watched his own death.
“Drop him!” a voice commanded from where the staircase had been.
Sarhorr ripped his gaze from Legone’s to deal with the new distraction. Standing in the stone archway stood a powerful female. An Ezinck. Her black hair mirrored his, her eyes were large, her skin dark and she stood firmly, feet apart, a sword pointed at him in one hand while the other was balled up in a fist. Behind her a Trazame stepped forward, his sword raised. Two Crons stood behind them, their eyes dark and narrow, the bloodlust in their bodies rippling in the air. They were a walking pillar of death and power. Sarhorr could taste the intoxication as he stared at them, and a strong desire to consume their power almost overcame him. His eyes drifted back to the Ezinck; she had a stronger aura of ancient power he could almost taste. Throwing back his head he laughed, lifting Legone higher in the air as he roared.
“The Five Warriors, come at last! I am happy to see each of you.” He smiled while Legone twitched in his hand. “I was hoping to personally end you and let you enjoy your final transformation. See what I have created in a matter of years, and you have finally come to let me consume your power. Mortals are so predictable, so willing to make deals, and trade.” He laughed again. He dropped Legone on the ground and moved forward, even as Alaireia drew back her arm.
“You,” he pointed at her. “Give it to me.”
“I will give you nothing but death,” she spat back at him.
He turned his head and out of the shadows two Xeros stepped. “Throw them into the pit,” he commanded.
Crinte and Starman stepped in front of Alaireia, raising their swords as the ten foot tall Xeros bore down on them. Alaireia dived out of the way, finding herself on the ground beside Legone. He had dropped his bow, and his quiver lay on the ground while he pressed a hand against his bruised neck. “Finish this!” Legone whispered, slipping an object into her hands, but a Xero grabbed Alaireia by the foot and dragged her up into the air. She sliced her sword in the air as she dangled, even from her upside down position seeing Crinte and Starman pushed back against the force of the Xeros.
Marklus, forgotten in the background, raised his bow and aimed his arrow at Sarhorr. It flew, straight and true, aiming for its mark, and slid right through his body. Sarhorr turned, his gaze locking on Marklus as he looked down at his unmarred body. “Think again, mortal one. You cannot harm me.”
Sarhorr lifted his hand and with a blast of power threw the warriors backwards, hurling them to the ground and rendering them weaponless. The Xeros stood above them, blades drawn, ready to strike the final blow. Starman coughed as he struggled to sit up, reaching for his sword just as the iron foot of a Xero smashed down on his fingers. Marklus felt a blade pushed into his side and he saw spots dance before him as his lifeblood was drained. Crinte shouted in fury, finding himself dragged upright by none other than Sarhorr the Ruler. Sarhorr considered him, warily. “I have always wanted to meet you, Crinte the Wise. But now that I have, I’m disappointed.” He raised his hand and hurled Crinte’s helpless body down the mountainside, laughing as Marklus cried out in horror.
Sarhorr turned his gaze on M
arklus. “Torture. Then death. That is how I treat those who dare to defy me.”
“Alaireia! Now!” Legone shouted, his dry voice barely croaking out of his wounded throat.
Faster than Sarhorr could turn his head, Alaireia, dangling from the hand of one of the Xeros, her sword on the ground below her fingers, pulled back her arm and threw the object through the air. Sarhorr ducked as the object flew over his head. “You cannot kill me.” His cold eyes bored into Alaireia’s. “Keeper of the Clyear of Power. You cannot kill me.”
“No.” Alaireia locked eyes with Sarhorr. “I cannot kill you. But they can.”
An aura of dark death swept over the grassy knoll, turning it black as the object Alaireia had thrown ripped open. Spirits poured out of it, the souls of Gims he had tortured into death. They reached for him, ripping his body, tearing away the mortal constraints. Pieces of flesh peeled from him like an outer shell, revealing his true identity. The mountain began to shake as Starman rolled out from under the Xero, sheltering his smashed hand as at last he reached for his sword.
“Run!” Marklus was shouting, holding his sword as he limped away, back towards the ledges.
The Xero dropped Alaireia in confusion and she stood, still staring at Sarhorr. “I have willed it to be so,” she proclaimed, her voice layered with a power greater than his own.
Sarhorr felt his body stripped away, leaving his unprotected spirit. Darkness covered him, bulky muscle and ligaments stood out as he felt his shadow wrap around him. Thick horns pointed out from his head and from his red eyes he saw Legone picking himself off the ground, red marks cruelly displaying on his bruised neck.
“Finish this!” Alaireia’s voice rang in his ears as Legone saw his chance. He dived for the now empty Boleck as Sarhorr spread his spirit arms, and the waters began to thunder down as a waterfall erupted below him.
The undying eyes turned on Legone, and Sarhorr’s now changed voice shouted. “You cannot kill me! I am immortal, this dominion of the Western World was only child’s play. I warn you this is the beginning of the end.” He turned and leaped off the cliff, reaching for the waters to drag him down into the water hole.
The Five Warriors (The Four Worlds Series Book 1) Page 34
